


Violence Inherent In The System

by ghostboi



Series: Graveyard Digger, Coffin Case Sinner [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Chapter two is dean's musings, Dark Dean Winchester, M/M, Obsession, POV Dean, POV Sam, Possessive Dean Winchester, Psychological, Serial Killer Dean, Shower Sex, Someone touches Sam and Dean's not okay with that, Stabbing, Submissive Sam, Violence, minor original character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 06:03:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4817828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostboi/pseuds/ghostboi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think you owe me for letting you use my pool, boy."<br/>Sam sneaks a swim & gets caught. The guy didn't know what he in for when he put his hands on that which belongs to Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another chapter in the serialkiller!dean series.  
> Going out of town for the weekend so it may be a few days before I pounce AO3 again. <3
> 
> Title from.. yep, you guessed it! Monty Python & the Holy Grail. ^_^

It was one of those hot summer nights that makes your clothes stick to your skin. Sam was lying on the large bed, hot and sweaty and mentally cursing the motel room’s air conditioning for taking so long to work. They hadn’t been there long, checked in half an hour ago; he knew from experience that it would probably take half the night before the room actually cooled down. 

His eyes shifted toward the bathroom as his brother exited. The man paused upon seeing him stretched out on the bed; Dean’s eyes flicked over his bare torso – he had discarded his t-shirt five minutes after entering the room- took in his worn, nearly thread-bare jeans, his bare feet. The man licked his lips, smirk touching his mouth. 

“Going to get some beer,” Dean moved to stand beside the bed, reached out to brush fingers down his cheek and throat, “Damn baby boy, you look good.”  
Sam raised a hand and traced it down Dean’s arm. “Stay, then,” he suggested with a mischievous grin. He bit his bottom lip as Dean leaned over, palms flat on the bed to support himself. 

“Soon,” the older man promised, grazing his jawline with his lips, “Gonna go pick up some beer, then I’m gonna come back, get you drunk, and fuck you senseless.”

Sam sat up, staring after his brother as Dean crossed toward the door. He blinked, shook his head slightly as he tried to cling to a shred of coherency. Dean had the ability to take him apart with just a sentence or two. He shoved himself off the bed and padded, bare-foot, to his brother’s side. 

“Gonna sneak in and take a swim in that motel’s pool across the street,” he told the man, leaning in to brush his mouth against Dean’s. The other glanced up at him – at 17 he was almost two inches taller than his brother now, though he still hadn’t filled into his build yet. “I’ll be careful,” he promised, recognizing the concern in Dean’s narrowed gaze, “I’ll keep an eye out for cameras, and I won’t stay long.” 

Dean nodded, “I’ll be back in a few. I’ll come over when I get back.” 

 

Sam watched from the room’s doorway as Dean had pulled out of the parking lot in the Impala: he loved seeing his brother behind the wheel of the sleek, black car. When the tail lights had disappeared from sight, he padded across the street, barefoot and shirtless. It was late, nearly 11 pm, so he figured the pool would be closed for the night.

Climbing over the chain link fence that surrounded the outdoor pool was easy. He glanced around for cameras, searching the shadowed crevices around the dimly lit patio; Dean had taught him years before how and where to search for surveillance. He was over the waist-high fence in seconds, and moving to the pool’s edge.

The water looked fairly clean and very inviting. Sam hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at the pool’s motel: the windows on this end of the building were dark. He shucked off his nearly thread-bare jeans, down to his boxers, and stepped in the pool’s shallow end. He sighed in bliss as he waded deeper, enjoying the feel of the water lapping against his heated skin. When he was waist-deep, he kicked off with his feet and swam to the other end. Upon reaching it, he let himself sink beneath water and swam back to the other end. He surfaced again in the shallower end, hair dripping in his face and sticking to his neck. 

Sam enjoyed the pool for ten or fifteen minutes; he was sitting on the edge, feet in the water, when he heard footsteps. He glanced over, startled, as someone came around the building’s corner. The boy pushed himself to his feet, soaked boxers clinging to his still-wet form, and moved toward the jeans he had discarded earlier.

“Hey kid,” the man whom had rounded the corner called to him, “What are you doing here? Pool’s closed. You with someone here?” 

“Yeah,” Sam glanced toward the fence, debated on just running – his wallet and room key were in his jeans, though – and shifted his eyes back to the man, “Of course. Wouldn’t be out here if I wasn’t.”  
The man stared at him for a minute before snorting out a, “Yeah right.”

The man moved around an old patio chair and walked closer: Sam sized him up as he drew nearer. Not quite as tall as him, but far more built. The short-sleeved shirt the man was wearing gave Sam a view of his muscled arms. Tattoos patterned one arm, and the man’s dark hair was shaved close. A small tag attached to the front of the t-shirt read ‘Paulo’. 

“You a trick? You look like a trick.” 

Sam raised a brow at the insinuation before retorting crossly, “You a drug dealer? You look like a drug-dealer.”

“That why you’re here?” a smirk touched the man’s mouth as he ran his eyes, slowly, over Sam, “Gonna offer to suck me off for drugs?”

Sam shook his head, muttered, “Not a trick” as he tried to step around the man, but Paulo blocked him. He had been backed into a corner, he realized. He was taller than the other man but still lanky, boyishly built: he wasn’t certain he could take the other, if it came down to a fight. 

“I’m – “ Sam swallowed, shifted backward as the man stepped into his space, “I’m just gonna go now.” 

“I think you should stay, trick. Let’s have some fun.”

“Fuck you,” the teen shot back, brows furrowed in anger. He tried to slip by the other man, almost made it, but Paulo was quicker than he looked. The man grabbed his wrist, jerked him backward: Sam found himself pushed back against the building’s brick wall. 

“Let me go!” Sam tried to wriggle free of the man’s firm hold; a whimper escaped his throat as fingers dug hard into his wrists, holding him in place. “Let me go, my brother’s gonna kill you, let me go!”

“Let him come on then,” the man let out a harsh laugh, raised his shirt to reveal the gun in the waistband of his khakis, “I’ll put two in his head. I think you owe me for letting you use my pool, boy.”

The man pushed a knee between his thighs, forcing his legs slightly apart, and Sam struggled against him, trying to get loose. His eyes caught movement behind the man, saw a figure approaching through the darkness, and relaxed suddenly.

The motel owner misinterpreted Sam’s sudden relief as compliance. He leered at Sam and leaned in close; Sam jerked his head away, tried to break free of the man’s hold, as Paulo ran his tongue down Sam’s face.

The leer changed to shock in an instant as a hand from behind him wrapped suddenly around the man’s chin, jerking him off of Sam. The man was scrabbling for the gun in his waistband when the first blow came: sharp knife jammed just beneath the man’s Adam’s apple. Sam turned his head to the side, eyes closed, as the knife was jerked free and blood sprayed out, patterning the wall and Sam both with a spray of warm droplets.

Dean drove the knife in a second time, sending the sharp blade into the side of the man’s neck. Paulo let out a gurgling sound, hands reaching out for empty air, as blood spurted forth. The elder Winchester stepped back, releasing the man, and the motel owner fell to the concrete.

The man was still spasming on the ground when Dean straddled him, went to his knees to slam the blade into the man’s stomach. Sam watched, eyes wide, as his brother drove the Bowie into the man’s stomach, between his ribs, into his chest. Over and over, the knife entered the man with dull, wet _thunks_ , Dean’s rage driving the blade.

Sam counted 16 blows when Dean finally lifted green eyes to him, chest heaving and fist clenched tight around the Bowie’s hilt. Blood covered his brother’s face and neck, spotted his hair, painted his clothes. He watched as Dean stood; the older man crossed to his jeans and snatched them from the ground, before turning to him. 

Sam crossed to his brother and raised a hand to brush his fingers down Dean’s cheek. “Dean..” his voice was a whisper as he brushed a drop of blood off the corner of the man’s mouth with a thumb. Dean jerked him close in a hard hug, foreheads touching; after a moment, his brother exhaled and stepped back.

“Room,” Dean’s voice was gravelly, and Sam nodded. He climbed over the fence and turned, to see that Dean had approached the downed man. His brother placed a booted foot against the man’s shoulder and shoved him over, tipping him into the pool. Blood colored the water a dark red immediately. Sam stared at it for a moment, then watched as Dean tromped through the blood covering the patio, to the fence. The older man stopped in the small stretch of grass between the fence and the sidewalk to kick off his bloodied boots: he picked them up and led the way across the street, toward their own motel.

Two minutes later, they were inside their own room. Dean tossed his boots into a small, empty trashcan just inside the room, to keep bloodied boot prints off the cheap carpet, before locking the door behind him. Sam halted as Dean grasped his shoulder suddenly, turned him to face him. His brother’s fingers dug into his shoulder for a moment as the green gaze studied his face. 

“Shower,” the other instructed, giving him a light shove toward the bathroom. 

Sam entered the bathroom, moved to turn on the water in the shower. He glanced over his shoulder as Dean entered: the other man tossed his jeans into the corner and crossed to him. Sam remained still as Dean reached down and shoved his boxers off his hips. He stepped out of them and, as Dean pushed him toward the shower, obediently stepped in. His brother shed his own blood-covered clothing and climbed in behind him.

Sam watched, hot water pouring down over his hair and body, as Dean snatched up a bar of motel room soap and ripped off the paper wrapping. The man grabbed up a clean wash cloth and rubbed it vigorously against the soap, creating suds. Sam allowed his brother to man-handle him as the other began scrubbing him down with both the wash cloth and his hands, cleaning the blood off him.

“Don’t want any part of that motherfucker on you,” Dean snatched up a bottle of shampoo, popped the lid and poured it in his hand. It was only a handful but his brother began soaping his hair with it as he growled, “Fucker touched you. Who the fuck did he think he was? Fucking bastard.” 

Sam wrinkled his nose and closed his eyes as soap began to run down his forehead, into his eyes. He remained motionless, though, waiting patiently until Dean had finished soaping him and rinsed him off. Sometimes his brother was like a man possessed, and Sam had learned that it was better to allow him his moments. He shifted his eyes to Dean as the man stepped beneath the spray of water himself to scrub down with quick, efficient movements.

Sam watched, leaning back against the tiled shower wall, eyes roaming his brother’s perfect form. He felt his cock twitch as he surveyed the other man; he was half hard when Dean’s gaze finally landed on him again. He reached for his dick, stroked it lightly, as the older man’s eyes trailed over him slowly, a slight smile touching his lips.

Sam gasped softly as Dean strode forward suddenly and grabbed both his wrists, pressing them against the tiled wall. Fingers pressed hard against his wrists, strong digits grinding bone, and a shudder ran through him. “Dean,” his voice was a soft moan above the sound of the still-running water: Dean pressed against him, pinning him against the wall with his strong body. His hard dick was trapped between them, rubbing against Dean’s stomach, and Sam let out a soft whine. He arched against the man, whined again in need as Dean nipped his throat. 

Sam sighed in pleasure as the other mouthed along his jawline, licking and biting softly, before moving to nip at the sensitive spot just below his ear. He tried to reach for his brother but his wrists were still pinned: the man chuckled against his throat, tightened his hold. He was going to have bruises, and he was more than okay with that. He wanted them, wanted Dean’s marks on his skin.

His eyes followed his brother as Dean went down suddenly to his knees. The older man pressed his face against Sam’s hip, lapping at the water running down his skin and sending shivers through him. He moaned aloud as Dean’s exploring mouth found his cock; Dean raised his eyes to him as he trailed his tongue up the shaft, traced it around the head.

“Dean,” the plea was barely loud enough to be heard above the water pelting down on them, but the older man heard. Sam arched away from the wall, into Dean’s hands, as the man’s strong fingers wrapped around his cock. Dean began to stroke him, slipping his other hand down between Sam’s spread thighs to brush his fingertips over his balls. Sam moaned again, pressing hard into the other’s hands. His entire body jerked in pleasure as Dean leaned in to flick his tongue over the head of Sam’s dick, tip of it licking into the slit.

Another moan tore from his throat and he bucked against Dean’s hands, head of his dick bumping against the man’s lips, as he felt a finger slip lower to press against hole. His brother began rubbing him lightly, teasing him by pressing in but not actually penetrating. The man’s wickedly talented tongue trailed slowly down his hard shaft: Sam jerked again, a cry of pleasure escaping him, as the other lightly nipped at the base of his cock.

“Come on my face, Sammy.”

The husky-voiced instruction, combined with a tug on his balls, was too much. Sam’s hips arched forward, shoulders pressing back against the wall, as he began to come with a cry of, “Dean!” He opened his eyes with difficulty as he did, saw the thick strands of hot, white fluid shooting across his brother’s face, and let out a low, wrecked moan.

Sam was pressed against the tile wall, trying to catch his breath, when his brother climbed to his feet. He watched, lips parted and breathing ragged, as Dean raised a hand to his own face. The man scooped the cum streaking his cheek with his fingers, shoved them into his mouth to suck them clean. The other man continued until he had most of the cum off his face and in his mouth. Dean stepped beneath the now-lukewarm spray of water to quickly rinse himself off, before turning off the shower. 

Sam’s knees went weak and he grasped at the wall, trying to find a hold on the wet surface, as Dean licked his lips, shot him a gorgeous smile and told him, “Taste good, Sammy. Could eat you all day long.”

He didn’t protest when his brother guided him out of the shower, nor when Dean spent the next ten minutes towelling him dry. The other led him to the bed and jerked back the bedcovers. Sam slipped beneath them, watching as Dean crossed to double-check the door locks and retrieve his handgun from his duffel bag. The man returned to the bed and shoved the gun beneath the mattress, then slipped in beside Sam.

Sam let out a contented sigh as Dean pressed up against his side, shifting him so that he was lying with his back against the other’s strong chest. He felt safe here, in Dean’s arms, with the other man wrapped around him. “Love you, Dean,” he murmured, raising Dean’s hand to brush his mouth against the man’s palm. Dean hugged him close, pressed a soft kiss against the side of his neck, and whispered,  
“Love you, too, baby boy.”


	2. Hands Clasped So Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a dark hotel room, Dean watches the shadows & thinks about Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's POV. A bit of a jaunt into his psychological welfare (or is that warfare?)

Dean watched as shadows flickered across the ceiling, cast by the streetlights sneaking in through the blinds. Rorschach images, dancing paths across fading ceiling panels. He glanced down at the young man in his arms as Sam shifted in his sleep.

Sam. His Sammy. 

He tugged the other closer, careful not to wake him, and pressed his lips against Sam’s warm neck. He breathed the other in, catching the natural, warm, woodsy scent beneath the smell of cheap motel soap. Another press of his lips against that enticing neck; a smile touched his lips as Sam’s head turned slightly in his direction, instinctively seeking him out. 

His thoughts touched on the man he had basically dissected several hours prior, and a crease touched his brow. He was pissed, still, at the now dead man in the pool across the street. Dean tightened his arms around his brother without realizing it as he stared at the far wall; he glanced back to Sam and loosed his hold the slightest bit as the other squirmed in his sleep, a protest at being held so tight. 

Dean raised his hand to run his fingers through Sam’s shaggy locks. He loved Sam’s hair, the feel of it, the way it slid between his fingers, the way he could grab it while fucking the other and use it to maneuver Sam how and where he wanted him.  
Dean’s eyes shifted back to the ceiling as a car drove down the street by the building, sending more light and more shadows into the room. Sometimes he wondered if his life, if _he_ , was made of shadows. 

There were days when that was all he saw, when not in Sam’s presence. Shadows and darkness, red-tinted along the edges. Every person he passed, everyone who spoke to him. He would look at them and see darkness and red. Sam was the exception.

Sam was always the exception.

His brother was the light in his constant dark and rage and urges to destroy. Light and joy and _quiet_. His heart beat his younger brother’s name with every thump against his sternum. Sam, sweet and often submissive to his whims; oddly sympathetic of those dark compulsions that consumed him; forgiving and understanding of Dean’s _need_ to satisfy them, often going as far as to help him do so. 

Dean had killed their father for hurting Sam, and he was willing to burn down the world for him. The younger Winchester had been his from the moment he had laid eyes on him; their bond had been created the moment their mother placed Sam into his arms when Dean was four-years-old. He would destroy anything in their path for the younger man.

He buried his nose in his little brother’s hair, breathing in his scent as he hugged him close. Was it irony that, if his brother asked him to stop, he would stop (or at least give it an honest shot)? Yet Sam hadn’t asked it of him, not yet. When the day came that he did, Dean would. He would do _anything_ for the younger man. 

Sam was the submissive one yet he held all the power, and he didn’t even realise it. His hold on Dean was absolute, as was Dean’s hold on him. 

Dean knew that, if ever he was caught on his path of destruction, they would take the boy from him. He wasn’t an idiot, far from it: he knew that if he was ever caught, Sam would be taken and tried as an accessory, a partner to his lusts and rages, or he would be considered a victim who hadn’t had a choice. Either way, he would be taken from Dean, and that wasn’t acceptable.

He couldn’t live without his Sammy. Oh, he might survive for a short while, he might carry on for a bit. It wouldn’t be for long, though, and he would cause a hell of a lot of suffering before he crashed and burned or offed himself. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he told his brother that, should Sam ever leave him, he would hunt him down, rip apart anyone Sam was with, and then he would end the both of them.

He glanced down at his brother as the younger man (and he was practically a man now, tall and beautiful and _perfect_ ) shifted closer in his sleep. He tangled his fingers in the other’s hair, lips pressed against his throat and other arm around his waist. He smiled against Sam’s skin as the other turned his face toward him, mumbled without opening his eyes,  
“’sa matter, De?” 

“Nothing, sweetheart,” he returned softly, fingers tugging gently at the younger man’s hair. Sam settled again, a smile touching the corner of his mouth, as Dean breathed against his throat, “Everything’s perfect.” 

Rorschach images painted the ceiling again, shifting as the light shifted, and Dean watched as they devoured one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All this? Pretty much how I feel about my own Beloved (minus the murdering/serial.killing spree, of course).


End file.
